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One of a litany of frequented Starbucks, for the girl who doesn't like coffee

One of a litany of frequented Starbucks,

Today is November 17th, in the early minutes of the 18th by now.  It’s a Monday-turned-Tuesday.  No different of a day than any other Monday where each hour ticks by on the stovetop clock in wastefulness or laziness, always on the brink of something and never resting.  I mulled around in my house after I couldn’t get the lawn mower started this morning to cut the frosted grass.  I remembered how weak I felt when I first started mowing and my dad had to pull the cord because the cord pulled all 90 pounds of me. 
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I finally made it out of the house by 2:30 and had dinner with a friend who prays like Scripture sounds.  I learned more in 3 hours than some people will learn all year.  But something in the mix was off, not right for me.  It was a tall cup of coffee.
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I dropped off toys at the missionary thrift store and ordered tall-soy-no-whip-peppermint-white-mocha with a smile at the drive through like it was routine.  I’d never been to this Starbucks before, and the drive-thru’s brand new.  It wasn’t until Joel [his nametag read] handed me a Christmas-y cup and a receipt for a free drink that I realized how I’d vowed not to be here.  Not from November 1st until 30 days later.
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I hadn’t spent a dime this month on Starbucks as a financial remodeling of sorts and a committment to the Lord.  Not a dime until I handed Mister Joel a twenty and he returned fifteen.
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No one knew I was fasting, or would see my if I drank.  But I didn’t have the heart to throw it out and the five dollars we already corporate property. 
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I just forgot.  Other things were on my mind, I guess.  Funny how that happens – the forgetting – with things unseen.  Congrats, Satan, now I have to start all over again.  I’ll fast from tomorrow…this time, just try me.   
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